


Encore

by GABurke1895



Category: Phantom of the Opera (2004)
Genre: First POTO Fic, Rating May Change, Slight Cursing, please be kind
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-10
Updated: 2018-11-13
Packaged: 2018-12-25 23:58:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12047025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GABurke1895/pseuds/GABurke1895
Summary: The Opera Populaire has been rebuilt by a mysterious patron and the Phantom is back once again. With La Carlotta too terrified to return as Prima Donna and Christine settling happily into the role of Vicomtess de Chagny, the theater is short a lead singer. However, the rise of the theater's new Prima Ballerina may just be enough to keep the opera house afloat. Meg's determined to bring the infamous theater out of its shadowy past and into the light of a new year. Fortunately for her, there is at least one person in her gaggle of admirers eager to see her succeed. There is at least one person eager to see her fail, too. Will the Phantom be able to save his last hope? Or will he be too late?***Chapters 6 & 7 added 11/13***





	1. The Return

There were no second thoughts on the Girys' part the day they received their letters. Okay, maybe not "no second thoughts," but a simple, _"Would you do me the honor of returning as a ballet instructor? ~E"_ had Madame Giry throwing on her hat and coat with no time wasted. Meg, on the other hand, seemed skeptical. Her letter was more lengthy but not by much.

_"Little Giry, although I suppose you are no longer as little as you once were, I have a request to ask of you. I would like you to return to the Opera Populaire as a ballerina. Not just a principle, you are far too skilled, but as Prima Ballerina. I would be most grateful if you would accept. ~E"_

She reread the letter, more a note really, a hundred times, but still she couldn't understand it. Who was "E"? How on Earth did he know her skill in ballet? What did he have to do with the newly rebuilt opera house? It seemed too good to be true. But if her mother, the pinnacle of cynicism and caution, was ready to rush back to the site of so much heartbreak and terror with only a single line on a scrap of parchment well then, she must have a damn good reason. With a resigned sigh, Meg pulled on her own coat and hurried after her mother. She didn't bother hailing a carriage. Ever since the fire that night years ago the Girys had stayed in a small apartment in Paris only a few blocks from the wreckage.

A few years ago, a rumor spread through the city that a wealthy benefactor had decided to restore the theater to its once grandiose state. With most of the troupe and the corps de ballet gone, no Prima Donna, no manager, and an audience that was still reeling from " _Don Juan Triumphant_ ", it was going to be nearly impossible for this benefactor to resurrect the Opera Populaire of old. The reconstruction effort had been a total success, though. The theater looked as if it had never burnt down in the first place, as if time had simply stopped before the fire. No one had been inside in the year since its completion, so Meg could only guess at what it looked like. She wouldn't have to guess for much longer.

She walked quickly, avoiding carriages and horses in the square, until she stood at the base of the opera house's stairs. She looked up at the magnificent stone architecture. Waves of nostalgia rolled over her. It seemed like so long ago that she danced in the foyer at their masquerade or sneaked through the shadows, her curious nature getting the better of her. It seemed so long ago since she last stood staring up at the only home she'd ever known as it burnt to the ground, just another victim of the Phantom's obsession with Christine. But that was all in the past. Christine was long gone, living happily as Vicomtesse de Chagny and mother of two boys. The body of the Phantom had never been found and Meg hoped he had lived.

As irrational as it sounded, Meg really did hope the Phantom had lived. She had seen the way he managed the theater and how good his suggestions were when they weren't clouded by mania. She'd danced in his opera, heard him sing, and knew her mother was right when she'd called him a genius. Meg had been fascinated by the Phantom ever since she can remember. Mother had never approved, of course, and tried her damnedest to ensure Meg stayed far from the shadows. It had almost worked, too. But she'd met the Phantom in person once before.

*************

_She'd just turned thirteen. Her mother had been too busy with the principles to say more than a quick, "Bon Anniversaire, ma petite danseur," and everyone else had forgotten her birthday, again. Not even Christine had bothered to say anything. She had decided to sulk in the darkest corner of Box Five since everyone was too afraid of the Phantom to go near it. She sat there crying for hours. He'd been so still, she hadn't noticed that someone else was sitting there until he gently coughed. Meg had jumped out of her skin._

_"You are quite daring for someone so small."_

_"And so are you for spying on a young girl," Meg wiped her eyes and sniffed._

_The young man chuckled, "Touché, Little Giry."_

_"How do you know me? Have we met?"_

_"Not that you would remember, but yes. I knew your mother first, but I have watched you grow up. Does that count?"_

_Meg's face scrunched up as she thought about it, "So you admit you've been spying?"_

_"I will admit that I know of everything that happens in my theater."_

_"Your theater?"_

_The man seemed amused that she wasn't understanding him, "Yes, my theater. I am the Opera Ghost after all."_

_Meg sucked in a quick breath at his admission. That only seemed to make the Phantom's mirth grow. She couldn't believe it. Here she sat, in the Phantom's reserved box, with the Phantom himself, talking as if it were something they normally did. Most people would already be dead for the kind of audacity she'd shown. But there she was, very much alive, and still sitting beside him in the dark. They remained in silence apart from Meg's frequent sniffles. She could almost feel his curious stare boring into her._

_"Why do you cry, Little Giry?" He finally asked._

_"I don't- I don't know what you mean," she stuttered quietly as she tried to hide her face._

_Strong fingers gently tipped her chin back in his direction. The other hand rubbed at her tear-stained cheek. His touch felt warm and comforting. Meg tried and failed to hold back another bout of tears. How was it that the Phantom that everyone feared was offering her more affection than her own mother on her birthday? In the midst of her chaotic emotions, Meg threw herself into the Phantom's chest and wrapped her arms around his middle. She could feel his back stiffen but it was as if the dam holding her sadness and loneliness at bay had crumbled. Even if she'd wanted to, she didn't think she'd be able to let go at that moment. She could tell he was unused to giving or receiving hugs because, when his arms eventually did come up to embrace her, they were awkward and hesitant._

_"There, there, Little Giry," he whispered shakily, "Would you like to, uhm, talk...about it?"_

_Meg merely shook her head, her forehead pressed into his chest._

"Dieu soit loué," _he muttered, his tension seemingly eased._

_"You smell like cinnamon," she mumbled._

_"Is that a complaint or a compliment?"_

_Meg replied with a shrug and remained silent. As if needing to fill the silence, he proceeded to tell her about the upcoming performance and about how M. Lefèvre was being a good sport by actually listening to the him this time. How he thought the new Italian soprano they brought in sang wonderfully and hopefully she could keep her ego in check. The deep rumble of his chest when he spoke was quickly putting her to sleep. He had moved onto discussing the changes he was hoping to make to the music when her eyes finally drifted shut and she knew no more. The next time she awoke, she was in her own bed, a warm cloak that smelled faintly of cinnamon covering her._

*************

Meg had never told anyone about that day, not even Christine, and especially not her mother. Nor did she tell them that she had often sat and spoken with him whenever she felt particularly lonely. As she grew older, she grew fonder of him. She had started to put bundles of cinnamon sticks under her pillow and in her clothes trunk just so she could always have his comforting scent nearby. However, once his obsession with Christine had flared to life, he lost interest in Meg and their chats. During the whole debacle with the Vicomte and Christine, Meg held out hope that he would talk to her or at least acknowledge her. That hope was dashed the minute he appeared at the masquerade, presenting his opera and laying claim to Christine's engagement ring and completely ignored her presence.

At the time, she had wished that he would've just looked her way once. Every time they practiced his opera she hoped he'd watch her dance from Box Five. But she could never feel his gaze and could never catch a glimpse of his shadow. The next time she saw him, he only had eyes for Christine. When the mob forced her to lead them through the catacombs, she nearly cried with joy after finding him gone. He'd burned her home, broken her heart, and disappeared into the night. But he was one of her only friends. As furious as she had been with him, she couldn't stomach the idea of letting him be killed. Even years later, it still sickened her.

Meg pushed her negative memories to the back of her mind as she pushed open the large doors in front of her. The familiar sight of the foyer greeted her. The marble staircase rose grandly in front of her. Gilded statues watched her tentative steps. Everything shone in the sunlight coming in from the massive domed skylight. The song from their masquerade seemed to ghost through her mind as she remembered the costumes and the dancing. She could almost see Raoul and Christine twirl together, Carlotta being escorted by Piangi, her mother watching the fan dancers, the Phantom looking dangerously handsome. The memory faded as Meg heard her name being called. Her mother was beckoning to her from the house doors.

"I'm sorry, Maman. What were you saying?"

Madame Giry merely shook her head with a fond sigh, "Come, the new manager wishes to speak with us."

Meg hurried to follow her mother. In the dim light, she could see the broad back of a man on the stage. He was directing a crew as they were hanging the curtains. She could hear his strong voice the closer she got. It can't be, she thought. She ran through a hundred explanations and none but one could justify why she was hearing his voice. Her steps faltered as she neared the stage. Her breath came faster and she could hear her blood rush in her ears. She almost dropped to her knees the moment he turned, sans his mask and a small smile on his lips when he caught sight of her.

"Little Giry, you have returned."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dieu soit loué = Thank God (basically, closer to Praised be God but you get the idea)
> 
> House (for those who don't know) is the correct term for the place where the audience sits. Audience is people, house is rows of seats. 
> 
> This is my first POTO fic EVER! I was inspired by Love Never Dies, the not-quite-a-sequel sequel, but only because I have such an intense dislike for the way they took a possible romance between Erik and Meg, made Meg a villain, killed Christine and made Raoul a shitty husband. Just so that Christine could take it all back and be with the Phantom. Not going to bash LND, but I thought I could make a happier story with a happier end for our main cast.


	2. Questions, Questions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meg wants answers, as I'm sure we all do!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the wait! Real life reared it's ugly head. Kinda like my cat who sits on my hands as I type. But she's a lot cuter than a cavity, a 40-hr work week and morning college courses. So this is pretty short.
> 
> But any-hoo, enjoy!

"Little Giry, you've returned."

Meg was speechless, torn between relief at seeing him alive and anger that had been stored away since before the fire. She held her tongue and looked him up and down. His pants and shoes were dusty from all the interior construction. His shirt hung open, displaying a smattering of chest hair over tanned muscles. When she feared she'd been staring at his chest for too long, she darted her gaze to his scarred face. Where it had once been a very vicious red it was now a calmer pink. His face seemed softer when he smiled, now. His eyes sparkled like gemstones in the sun. He did not seem half as frightening as he had been years previous.

He must have noticed her stunned silence, for his smile dropped and he turned his scarred side away. Meg blinked at his change in demeanor. He must have thought that by hiding himself he would ease her shock and disgust even though she felt nothing of the sort. The anger she had managed to push down earlier sprang back to the fore. His turned cheek offered the perfect target for her shoe which hit him with superb accuracy. He turned back to face her, a mix of betrayal, sadness and anger twisting his expression. It settled into bemusement as he watched Meg struggle to remove her other shoe while hopping up the stage stairs, tears streaming down her face while she spit curses at him.

"You son of a bitch! T'es rien qu'un petit connard!" Her other shoe smacked his chest, "How could you?!" She was close enough to smack his chest with her bare hands. Each hit was punctuated with a curse, "Salaud! How could you leave me alone?! You were all I had!"

Anger gave way to sadness. Meg clutched the Phantom's shirt as she bawled into his chest. Arms wrapped around her, tentatively at first but tightened when she didn't pull away. She didn't care that the workers had stopped to watch or that her mother was horrified by her vocabulary. A shaky, uncertain hand left her back to smooth her hair. She could feel his chest rumble when he called her "Little Giry" again. Her only response was to shake her head into his chest, a refusal to respond as well as an attempt to hide her splotchy face. It was enough of an excuse to allow herself to press against his strong, warm chest.

"Come, Little Giry, we must put your shoes to rights."

"Te faire foutre," she muttered half-heartedly.

"I suppose I do deserve that. If you ruin your feet and can no longer dance, do not blame me. Here," he picked her up, carried her bridal style and set her down in one of the house seats, "you sit and I will fetch your shoes."

Meg refused to look him in the eye when he knelt and replaced her shoes on her feet. She pouted when he turned away to continue directing the curtain crew. He never left her side for which she was particularly grateful because otherwise her mother would have pulled her aside and asked what on Earth had possessed her. She was not ready to explain to her mother how she'd befriended and subsequently fallen in love with the same man who had terrorized the original theater inhabitants before setting their home on fire. Her gut said her mother was probably well aware of the situation. If her outburst hadn't given it away, her familiarity towards him must have done it.

"I know you must be furious with me still," the Phantom's deep baritone interrupted her worrying. The crew had finished hanging the grand drape and no longer required his attention. "There must be something I can do to...alleviate some of that anger."

"You can tell me your real name so I can add it to my curses." Though she was half serious, the Phantom chuckled.

"Erik, Little Giry, Erik Destler," he said, shocking her with his forthright answer. After all his years in hiding, here he sat, no mask, no shadows, no secrets. It was more than a little unnerving.

"Stop calling me 'Little Giry', too. I dislike it."

"What shall I call you, then?"

"Call me Meg, all my friends do. Or they would if I had any friends."

Erik gently took her hand and rubbed small circles with his thumb. The years had certainly made him bolder. Meg couldn't help but wonder at what had caused this massive switch in his personality. Where once he clung to the shadows, he now sat comfortably in the light. Where once he shrank from another's touch, he now held her hand. Where once he covered his deformity, he now showed his whole face to the world. As if he could sense her curiosity, he turned to her with a knowing look.

"You have questions."

"A few, yes."

"Then ask them. You've never shied away from audacity before." Meg decided to take that comment as a compliment.

"You're not wearing your mask. Why?"

"Well, when I returned to my ransacked home, it was gone. I had no others to replace it, unfortunately, so I just went without. I spent sometime in the countryside in the fresh air. One of the villages I visited had a medicine woman who looked at my face. She tutted at me for keeping it covered for so long and gave me a salve that calmed the skin. She forbade me from covering it, said it needed sunlight, fresh air and to be kept clean. I guess I just got used to leaving it uncovered."

"That answers my second question, where've you been, so I'll move along to my third. In all the years we'd known one another, you would never touch me. You'd never have held my hand or even touch your knee to mine. So what changed?"

"Once I got used to leaving my face unmasked, I had to get used to people. The village where the medicine woman lived didn't have many people in it. News travels fast in a small town. I got to meet everyone, which meant shaking lots of hands. I soon became an honorary resident. I was invited to dinners and dances. I even played for them a time or two. By the time I felt a need to return to Paris, I was used to hugging and hand shakes and even holding children."

"How long were you there?" Meg was astonished that he'd changed so much as to be able to hold a child and make a niche for himself in tiny rural town.

"About a year and a half. Before that, I just wandered from place to place for a few months."

"Why'd you come back? Why rebuild the Opera Populaire at all?"

He shrugged, "I just felt drawn to it. When I saw that no one had bought the wrecked lot, I figured I might as well put some of my funds to good use. I decided to become the new manager instead of just being a patron."

Meg laid her head on his shoulder as she thought about all the things he'd told her. There was one thing she wanted to know more than anything. But she was loathe to bring it up. She watched the workers wander back and forth across the stage. Their constant motion seemed to lull her into sleep. All the emotional highs and lows she'd experienced in the past hour only served to add to her exhaustion. In her last coherent moments, she let her guard down and asked what she'd been dying to know.

"Why'd you leave me?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed my 2 AM unedited, unbetaed chapter and my sneaky Disney quote that I didn't actually realize I'd added until I did my read through. 
> 
> Translations:  
> T'es rien qu'un petit connard = You really are an asshole  
> Salaud = Bastard  
> Te faire foutre = Fuck you
> 
> Meg's pretty pissed if you couldn't tell. If you see any errors in spelling please let me know! 
> 
> NEXT CHAPTER: Erik apologies! The Opera Populaire is set to start auditions! Madame Giry is suspicious!


	3. ERIK’S POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As promised, Madame is suspicious! Erik apologizes! Kinda!
> 
> With Meg asleep and me not wanting to have Madame throw wrenches in romance just yet, this chapter is very light on dialogue! After my short and ridiculous chapter two, I wanted to take some more time with Erik’s guilty self.
> 
> So please bear with me!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m always so excited to read your comments! They make my day all the brighter!

“Why’d you leave me?”

Erik knew a loaded question when he heard one. The other questions were simple enough to answer and after everything he’d done the last thing he wanted to do was hide behind lies again. _Which answer would hurt her the least,_ he wondered. For all the changes he’d recently made with his life, he was still nervous when conversing with people. It often felt like one wrong word would escape his lips and he’d be thrown back in the cage or trapped in never ending night under the opera house again. He hoped Meg would be forgiving of any faux pas he made.

His attention shifted back to her as she shifted in her sleep. He’d always thought she was beautiful. With her fair hair and pale skin, she looked pure and innocent, like an angel. Dark smudges under her eyes were a testament to her physical and emotional exhaustion. Mme. Giry had told him earlier that Meg had been working and practicing non-stop, no matter that she had nowhere to preform. Her eyes had been full of fire and grief as she’d yelled at him, though. _So maybe ‘archangel’ would suit you best,_ he thought. Whatever she was, she practically embodied the light he’d hidden from for so long.

Of course, he took more than her looks into account when he said she was the light. Meg Giry was gold among the bronze. When they had both been younger, she’d never been afraid of him. She’d dare to sit in Box 5, his box, and just talk to him. She’d touched him, hugged him and even saw his unmasked face once. Yet she never turned from him. She’d bring snacks from the patisserie across the square for him. They’d sit together as she recounted how her day had passed and then she’d encourage him to tell her about his newest project. She’d been his first, probably only, real friend. Even when he’d gotten angry with her over something insignificant, she still returned to Box 5. Even when he’d pushed her aside for Christine, she had waited patiently for him. _And how did I repay her kindness,_ he asked himself bitterly, _not with gifts or friendship, but by trampling over it?_

Erik let his head fall back so he could gaze at the ceiling. He’d had the old chandelier fixed and had had the construction crew hang it the day before. He’d hoped that by fixing the chandelier he’d be able to start atoning for his past. However, it just served as a reminder of his foolish quest to force a love that was founded in deception. A quest that led him to push away the only girl, woman, that could have ever truly loved him.

He’d been swept away by his romanticized version of Christine. When he stumbled across her crying in the chapel, he’d thought he felt a connection. She was hurt and in pain just as he was. They both were shrouded in darkness, she in her grief and he in his fear. He feared she’d turn in disgust from his face, so he’d vowed to woo her with his voice first. So much so that she’d overlook his deformity. But he’d been wrong. They were so similar and yet so different that romantic love could’ve never survived between them. He needed a balance, not another stone to drag him into the abyss.

Maybe if he’d just left Christine well enough alone, if he’d told Meg he cared for her, they could’ve avoided all the heartache and tears. But what was done, was done. He’d have to find a way to regain Meg’s trust and if he was lucky, her love. Lady Luck, however, had never seemed to favor him before, so he decided that he’d be happy with her fondness. Whatever part of herself that she’d willingly offer to him, he’d accept with gratitude.

Meg’s quiet whimper pulled Erik back down from his daze. Her face was scrunched in a frown. He quickly wrapped his arms around her and, using the arm that wasn’t pinned behind her back, gently caressed her forehead down to her cheek. The furrows that marred her skin eased as she relaxed. A contented sigh escaped her and Erik tried his best to not tense up when he felt her move. She snuggled closer, her face pressed into his shoulder with her hand on his chest.

Erik tried to calm the voice in his head that was far too excited about her closeness. He was sure that, if not for the armrest between them, she would’ve been half in his lap. It doesn’t mean anything, he scolded himself. If he didn’t want a repeat of Christine, he’d take this slow. At least he had the advantage of already being Meg’s friend first this time. Of course, that would only be true if she didn’t rebuff him when she awoke.

It wasn’t doing him any good worrying about what-ifs. He laid his cheek on top of Meg’s head and stroked her silken hair. His fingers brushed the edges of the ribbon she’d used to tie up part of her hair. It matched the forest green of her dress. Erik could vaguely remember her having a different ribbon to match everything she wore. He was sure she had ones to go with her costumes, too. He chuckled at the idea of her checking the ribbons against her dresses. _Hopefully, they survived the fire_ , he thought. If they didn’t, he’d just have to buy her all new ribbons. It would be the start of his very long overdue apology. The ones he’d said a thousand times in his head just since she’d thrown her shoes didn’t count.

The quiet surrounding them was broken by a soft cough. Erik looked up into the face of the construction crew’s leader. The man held up a finger to his lips and nodded toward Meg. He handed Erik a piece of paper that detailed what they’d completed. It also gave him the details of his payment and what would need to be finished up tomorrow. From what the paper was telling him, the majority of the theater was finished. That meant he’d be able to hold auditions by the end of the week! Erik grinned and handed the paper back to the man. Soon, very soon, the Opera Populaire would reopen.

And he’d be managing from the forefront this time.

~~~

Madame Giry stood dumbfounded. She’d never thought her Meg was capable of such actions. Shock? Who wouldn’t be when faced with an unmasked Phantom? Anger? Understandable, considering he had burnt down their home. But violently assaulting the man who had killed Joseph Buquet and Piangi? Mme. Giry knew that Meg was never one to shy away from speaking her mind, but that seemed far too audacious, even for her! She put it down to a heat of the moment impulse until she saw them together. Meg was smiling in her sleep and hugging him. She must have been comfortable enough with him to be able to express herself this way. If the fond expression and relaxed posture of Erik’s was anything to go by, this was familiar to them.

Mme. Giry suspected they were closer than either of them had ever let on. It didn’t sit well with her. Not one bit. It seemed that she didn’t know either of them as well as she thought. But she knew one thing was certain...

Meg would never become another Christine, so long as Mme. Giry was alive!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for your support and kudos! If not for coffee and your comments, I’d still be stuck on chapter two.


	4. Even Ghosts Have To-Do Lists

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for your wait! As always, thank you for your comments, kudos, and most importantly thank you for reading!

Meg twirled and leapt in time with music that only she could hear. A silent symphony played in her mind in an attempt to drown out her warring thoughts. Dancing was the only thing that helped cleared her head. After her emotional reunion with Erik only the day before, Meg's mind was a mess. He was so different from before. He was totally honest and open. He wasn't so quick to anger. It was as if his personality had completely changed. It was so unexplainable to her. The last time she'd seen him, he'd been kidnapping her best friend and crashing the giant chandelier into the stage, all because Christine had unmasked him in public.

Now, he was apologetic and patient. His smiles weren't sharp and dangerous. He no longer carried himself with tension. When she looked into his face, she didn't see the murderer or the manic genius. It was unnerving to say the least. Even though she'd seen what he was truly capable of with her own two eyes, her mind refused to connect Erik with the Phantom. Meg twisted and turned trying to focus solely on the rhythm but lost the tune to her wayward thoughts. She stumbled to a halt in frustration.

“Brava!”

Meg jumped and turned to look at her audience. Erik stood leaning against the orchestra pit wall. He smiled at her, a mix of amusement and fondness flashing in his eyes. Meg only rolled her eyes and huffed at him.

“Don't sneak up on me like that.”

It was his turn to huff, “I hardly sneaked up on you. Just because you did not notice my approach, that does not make it my fault.”

“In any case, was there a reason you felt the need to scare me?”

“Well, originally I had wanted to let you know I was going to run some errands, but now I wonder if you would not mind my accompaniment here instead.”

Meg was sure he could hear her pounding heartbeat from where he stood and that if that didn't give her away the deep blush across her cheeks most certainly did. The man she'd fallen in love with was offering to stay. Here. With her. Alone. Maybe she'd finally get to dance with him! Maybe he'd invite her to dinner! Maybe he'd tell her he loved her, too! Fantasy after fantasy flirted through her mind. It wasn't until she heard the first notes of a song that she understood what he meant. He'd be her musical accompaniment not her companion. She tried not to let her disappointment show as she walked closer to him. The song he was playing wasn't one she'd heard before. She couldn't see any sheet music, either.

“What is that, that you're playing?”

Erik’s fingers didn't stumble at her question, “I would say it's a surprise, but with your famous curiosity and stubbornness, it would just be easier to tell you. It's the solo for the ballet I plan to use as our premiere performance.”

“You've already written the solo? What about the rest of the ballet?”

“I am halfway finished. This solo is right before the intermission.” As if he could feel her skeptical gaze, Erik sighed, “In any case, we need to recruit a new corps de ballet and hire stage hands, so I shall have plenty of time.”

“If you say so. But unfortunately for you, I'm all danced out and no longer need your musical accompaniment,” She watched as he tensed at her dismissive words, “However, if you'll allow me to change _I’ll_ be _your_ accompaniment on your errands.”

Erik’s breath rushed out, taking the tension from his shoulders as it went. He offered Meg a small smile and a nod, “I, um, I would enjoy that. Ver—very much.”

  
<><><><><><><><><><>  
ERIK’S POV  
<><><><><><><><><><>

Erik stood waiting by the carriage out front, pulling on his black gloves. Meg continued to surprise him. After yesterday, he was certain she'd never speak to him again. She'd woken up and jumped away from him, in embarrassment or anger he couldn't say, before hurrying away and out the doors. Shock kept him from chasing after her and anxiety told him he didn't want to know why she ran. Madame Giry had merely stared holes into his back as he stood there. But when he found her dancing on his stage that morning, he had a surge of hope. Hope that maybe he hadn't ruined his only chance. His offer of his musical talent was a sort of olive branch, meant to test the waters of where he stood with her. His heart had frozen when she said she no longer needed him, but thawed once she'd offered her own company.

“Alright, let’s go!” Even though he'd heard her coming, Erik was still startled by her appearance.

As he helped her into the carriage, he had to restrain his chuckles. Meg had tied her hair up with a deep blue, satin ribbon that matched her dress almost perfectly. She glanced back at him when one of his chuckles escaped. He merely ducked his head and coughed to hide his amusement. He followed her inside but not before telling the coachman where to take them. Meg had not been seated a full minute before she began to fidget. Erik could tell her curiosity was getting the better of her once more. He decided he'd put her through enough pain in the past that to torture her now was cruel.

“We are headed to the print shop first so I can retrieve the audition posters. Then we are going to every dance studio, art school, and major square in Paris,” he answered in response to her unasked question.

“Advertisement for the show or for the auditions?”

“For the auditions, as well as stage crews, costume designers, maids, the whole lot of people who make a theater run.”

“Then you should also advertise by the river docks. Lots of strong, hardworking folks who could lift the heavy sets and pull ropes. Not to mention the new arrivals who come by way of the river. You might just find a singer or dancer this way, too.”

Erik merely stared at her for a moment. She was right, he'd forgotten about the river! What would a man like Joseph Buquet be doing at a cafe? Nothing, that's what! A sturdy man who could work with his hands wouldn't set foot in a cafe. He'd be working to put food on the table or to pay for his next round of drinks. Maybe they could even put some posters in taverns! Meg was a genius. She'd opened up a new avenue of thinking to him almost every time she spoke.

“Brilliant, Meg. And afterwards I will take you to supper. There was a restaurant along the Champs-Élysées I have been wanting to try. Tha—that's only if you—if you would like to. Join me, I mean. For supper,” Erik cursed his stumbling tongue. He prayed to whatever higher power that would listen to not let Meg laugh at his offer. Of course, the powers-that-be had never seen fit to listen to his requests before, so he shouldn't have been surprised when she giggled. He curled into himself slightly, as if hunching would protect his heart from her rejection.

“I'd love to join you for supper, Erik,” she replied softly.

Erik glanced up to find Meg smiling fondly at him, no hint of ridicule in her eyes. He smiled back and uncurled a little. His defensive posture, however, did not abate. It felt like a trap. Like the other shoe would drop and she'd take it all back as a joke. It never came. Instead, Meg's hand found his as she pulled him into the seat beside her. She held tight to his hand and even drew circles on his palm. Erik relaxed fully under the light ministrations.

All too soon the carriage pulled up to the print shop. Erik disembarked from the cab and asked Meg to wait for him. It wouldn't take long to grab the posters. The man at the shop was swift and efficient, gathering Erik’s order in record time. Even though he'd only been gone a mere five minutes, he could feel Meg's impatience before he opened the door. He apologized for her wait and they were off again. First, to the river docks, as they weren't the safest or most respectable place to bring a young, unmarried and unchaperoned woman. He made Meg remain in the carriage once again, this time for her safety.

In the safer parts of the city, Erik would help her out and they'd post posters. Often times, Meg had to convince the cafe owners, shopkeepers, and ballet instructors to let them keep their posters displayed. He'd forgotten that, on top of being intelligent, beautiful, and talented, she had a tongue made of solid silver. She had used her looks to her advantage ever since she was a child. Erik had seen her twist the most stoic stagehand around her little finger. Not even women could withstand her charms. He could watch her talk circles around an irate ballet instructor for hours. However, the siren call of a hot meal beckoned him. Judging from the grumble coming from Meg's stomach, Erik guessed it was about time for them to call it a day.


	5. Think of Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meg wanders then she over wanders!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that it's been forever. My real life is butting in. I'm trying to move, change my insurance, and I got asked out on a date! A real date! It's been years since had one of those.
> 
> Any hoo, enjoy and Happy Belated New Years!

Meg watched from Box Five as several singers lined up for their auditions. So far, Erik had only chosen two out of the thirty people they'd seen. Even if his personality and looks had changed, his dedication to the arts never wavered. It was admirable, albeit frustrating for her to watch. To her, those singers had all been amazing and with the troupe so diminished she didn't think they had any right to be so picky. That was another unwavering trait of Erik's, his stubbornness.

Meg couldn't help but feel like he was still hoping Christine would come through the doors and be Prima Donna once more, that she'd pick him after all this time. Her heart ached, both for him and for herself. He'd never choose her over his old ingénue. Christine would forever hold his heart. The only reason he'd written her a solo in the ballet was because he only had a Prima Ballerina to work with at the moment. Once Erik had a full cast, he'd write operas, pushing her to the side, as he'd always done.

She huffed in disgust with herself. Of course he'd prioritize operas over ballets! He was managing an opera house, after all. It was selfish of her to want him to make her his new muse. Meg felt sick with jealousy and self-loathing watching Erik scrutinize the singers. She had no right to monopolize him, not when he was doing so well meeting strangers and being seen, and yet she wanted to so badly.

She felt choked by her raging emotions. She pushed away from the railing and wandered into the main lobby. The gilt work shone in the natural light. The marble staircase nearly reflected her face like a mirror as she climbed down them. Soon these halls would be filled with people, all dying to see Erik’s new work. She'd heard him composing new scores at night when he thought the world was asleep. Her dressing room was closest to the manager’s office, closer than even the Prima Donna’s. The rooms he'd built for her and her mother were close to his as well.

It filled her with hope that maybe, just maybe, he'd designed it that way so that he could keep her close to him. The pragmatic part of her brain told her that he probably felt safer with familiar faces around him and that was why he put her dressing room in between his office and the Prima Donna’s dressing room. It was probably to protect himself from painful memories. It had nothing to do with any feelings he may have for her. She was just imagining that he held affection for her.

Meg sighed in defeat. If only she'd been born a singer! Her voice was passable, but it could never hit the highs that Christine could. She hummed the first bars of her friend’s first aria. The memory washed over her as she began to softly sing.

 

~~< ><><><><~~ ~~~~~~> <><><>~~

_Think of me_  
Think of me fondly  
When we've said goodbye  
Remember me  
Once in a while  
Please promise me you'll try

 

_Christine stood alone on stage, her soft voice filling the theater. Her glittering, white gown nearly blinding everyone._

 

_When you find_  
That once again you long  
To take your heart back and be free  
If you ever find a moment  
Spare a thought for me

 

_Meg's heart soared as she watched her sister by heart finally taking her place in the spotlight. The audience sat in awe of the beautiful, young soprano._

 

_We never said our love was evergreen_  
Or as unchanging as the sea  
But if you can still remember  
Stop and think of me

~~< ><><><><><><><>~~

 

“But if you can still remember, stop and think of me,” Meg finished quietly.

The song spoke to her like it never had before. She hoped that even though she wasn't here, Erik would NOT stop and think of Christine. Instead, she wanted him to think about her, Meg, to spare her just the barest thought. Of course, the only way to gain his attention right now would be to either audition with her squeaky high notes or drape herself wantonly over his lap like a cat. Considering both her mother and Erik would probably react poorly to the latter idea, Meg decided to scrap it.

Meg's wandering landed her in the old Prima Donna’s dressing room. He'd wooed kidnapped Christine from this room. It hadn't changed much since she'd been here last, all those years ago. The furniture had been refurbished and the floor to ceiling mirror still stood proud, if a little more worn, against the wall. She'd attempted to go through it once only to be stopped by her mother. There was no reason any one should stop her now.

She slid the glass of the mirror to the side and stepped through. The corridor was the same, even the candles were lit. Meg found it odd. No one should be down here. She toed lightly through the maze-like hallways. Nothing made a sound except the rats and the swish of her long skirts. Finally, she came to the lake where Erik’s boat still floated, tied to the small pier.

Meg decided against taking the boat for reasons she didn't fully understand. She took off her shoes and began wading in the direction of Erik’s lair, for lack of a better word. As she approached, she could see the gate was up and there was light pouring from it. The last time she was here it'd been a mess. Papers had been strewn everywhere, glass was broken and candle holders had been knocked over.

Now, it was clean and tidy. Someone had picked up everything and neatly put things away. There were composing papers piled on tables and next to the massive organ. The mob hadn't been able to move it, she remembered. They'd taken other things, though. The music box was gone. As were the curtains and drapes. So was the mannequin of Christine. But Meg couldn't remember anyone dragging up that particular piece. Which meant who ever had cleaned this place had removed it themselves.

Meg sighed in relief. She didn't think she could face Christine at this very moment. She looked through the papers on one of the tables to distract her thoughts from returning to her friend. A few looked like scores from Hannibal and others were for a ballet with no name. There were even what looked to be well drawn costume designs. Meg ignored those and snatched up an unfinished score.

She'd taken piano lessons as a child, but after her father died they didn't have the money to continue. She was rusty and it showed as she played haltingly. It didn't help that she'd never touched an organ before. At least there was no one there to hear her play.

“Trespassing now, Meg?” Meg startled and hit the wrong key. She twisted around to find Erik standing with his arms crossed, a smirk resting on his face.

“Just because you used to be _The Phantom_ doesn't mean you can continue to appear out of thin air and frighten unsuspecting people,” she huffed. “Besides, there's no harm in practicing my piano skills.”

“Nothing wrong with it, I suppose, so long as you practice upstairs and not down in this dungeon. You should not have come down here, _mon ange_.” Meg blushed at the endearment.

“Why not?”

“Curiosity killed the cat.”

“Satisfaction brought it back,” she countered. He seemed to consider her determination before sighing.

“Alright, alright, but you must promise me one thing,” he paused and stared her down until she nodded, “You must never come down here without me.”

“Why?” Erik groaned at her ceaseless wondering.

“Because I have not removed all the traps and I do not want you to get caught in one when there is no one down here to get you out.”

“You mean YOU won't always be down here to save me when I fall.”

“Also…I get nervous when you disappear and no one can find you. Your mother does not know you came down here. She is busy judging aspiring ballerinas.”

“You were looking for me?” she asked in genuine surprise. She grinned at learning he'd missed her. Erik tried to hide his blush and cleared his throat.

“How about we play together? Maybe I'll become inspired to finish this score,” he changed the subject quickly and pushed her to the side gently. Meg giggled lightly as she watched him fumble with his papers.

“Don't think I didn't notice that you didn't answer my question,” she muttered, still riding the high of knowing he had thought of her, and smirking as Erik turned cherry red.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mon ange= my angel


	6. Mr. Almost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things happen!
> 
> More accidental Disney quotes (sorry, not sorry)! Brownie points if you can find it and tell me where it came from.
> 
> The ballet Erik is composing is a mashup of Giselle and Coppelia. Both are excellent ballets and I would recommend checking them out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry for being gone so long!
> 
> I’m also sorry for this chapter....
> 
> Fair warning...

Meg was wandering the halls once more, however, this time she had a goal. She was determined to find Erik while simultaneously avoiding her mother. Mme. Giry was sure to question her if she managed to pin down her daughter and Meg was in no hurry to explain herself. Luckily, her mother had been busy with auditions these past few weeks and had had no time to interrogate. But that would all be over as soon as her mother found the last of her corps de ballet.

 

The terrifying thought of her mother finding out about her friendship (and maybe more) with the Phantom of the Opera spurred her into walking faster toward Erik’s office. She could hear him composing before she even turned the corner. It made her smile to know he was once again creating for the sake of art and not just his mania. She didn’t bother knocking on his door but simply opened it as quietly as she could so as not to disturb him.

 

Erik’s playing never faltered even as he noticed her presence in front of him. He merely nodded to the chaise beside the piano, an invitation Meg accepted happily. She watched him play, pause, scribble something on his sheet music, play again, and then wrinkle his forehead in concentration. She watched him go through the cycle three times before she interrupted.

 

“Erik?” She said quietly.

 

“Hm?” He hummed, still frowning at his sheet music.

 

“What’s your new opera about?”

 

Erik paused at her question and finally turned toward her, “Its not an opera, mon ange. I’m composing a ballet.”

 

Meg blushed as he held her shocked stare impassively. Neither wanted to look away from the other. He could see the confusion and tentative hope flash in her eyes as well as she could see the fondness and amusement in his.

 

“But why? Weren’t you auditioning singers just a few days ago? And why are you reopening the Opera Populaire with a ballet?”

 

“Because, dear Meg, I can do as I please. I’ve been hiring singers because I will put on operas and I’d like to already have the singers here where I can work with them. But, this ballet is more important to me.”

 

“Oh?” Meg managed to squeak.

 

“It’s about a beautiful young woman who gives all her love to her beau only for the man’s head to be turned by another ‘woman’. The other woman is merely a doll in a window but neither the man nor the young woman realize that. He vows to make the doll his wife. The young woman is heartbroken. Unable to bear the betrayal of her lover she runs away into the woods where she is found and comforted by a group of nymphs. They convince her to leave her heartbreak behind and join them.”

 

“What happens to the man?” Meg asked as she finally looked away.

 

“He climbs up to the window only to find the truth about the other ‘woman’. Disappointed by his discovery he returns to the young woman’s home only to find that she’s disappeared. He frantically asks the other villagers and they said they’d seen her running into the woods. He desperately searches the woods only to find the remains of her dress. Heartbroken and devastated by his own idiocy, he refuses to return to the village and instead unknowingly lies down underneath the tree that the young woman became while clutching her dress.”

 

Meg hadn’t even noticed she was crying until she felt Erik pull her chin in his direction and brush away her tears, just like he had when she was thirteen. She sniffed once before letting her tears flow freely. She could sense Erik’s panic at her sudden sobbing. She grabbed at his shirt with one hand and held his hand to her cheek with the other. Hesitantly, Erik slid off his piano bench and moved to kneel in front of her. For once they were literally seeing eye to eye.

 

Meg took a chance, closed her eyes and leaned forward until their foreheads rested together. He stilled at the closeness of her. He barely breathed. He didn’t blink. How could he when an angel blessed his damned self with her presence? He’d known it’d be risky making his ballet into a self reflection. It was the only way he’d ever be able to truly apologize to her for being such a fool. For pushing her to the side. For ignoring her feelings. For being blind.

 

He’d been such an idiot and he’d lost her. This ballet was his way of telling her he wished he could take it back, that he’d love her and be devoted to her if she’d have him. But it was her choice. He would never force Meg into anything. He’d learned his lesson. He was content just being beside her...

 

“Erik,”

 

...until she breathed his name like that. Sadly but with a tinge of hope. It made him feel as if she were carving out his heart with a dull knife. She deserved better than him. She deserved a handsome prince on a white horse, not a hideous monster who had spit on her love. But here she was, touching him, encouraging him to touch her, breathing the same air as him. She was close enough to kiss. He dared to lean forward until their lips merely ghosted passed.

 

“Erik...I,” Meg began.

 

“Erik! Get away from her!”

 

Meg and Erik ripped apart from one another. In the doorway, glaring murderously at Erik stood Mme. Giry. She’d come up to discuss rehearsals. Instead she’d caught Erik attempting to force a kiss on her hysterical daughter. Like any good mother, she stormed across the room, yanked Meg away from him and quickly pulled her out the door. Meg was still so shocked at being caught by her mother that she momentarily forgot to fight back. It didn’t take long however.

 

“Maman, wait! Stop! Let me go! You don’t understand,” She fought with her mother’s iron grip to no avail.

 

“I understand perfectly! He’s just going to make you into another Christine, ma petite.”

 

“No he’s not!” Meg yanked harder on her hand only to have her mother’s hold tighten further.

 

“Yes he is! Or do you think I didn’t see him practically mauling you on that chaise?!”

 

“It wasn’t what you think!”

 

“Oh? Enlighten me, then.”

 

“I was crying over his new ballet and he was comforting me. I was the one who pulled him closer!”

 

“And that near kiss?” Meg threw all her weight back, finally freeing herself.

 

“I would welcome it!” She spat as she stumbled slightly with her backward momentum.

 

Mme. Giry looked like Meg had just confessed to murdering her father and dropping him in the Seine, “Why?” She whispered.

 

“BECAUSE I LOVE HIM!” Meg roared in frustration, “I’ve loved him for years!”

 

“Even though he’s a dangerous?”

 

“Yes!”

 

“A murderer?!”

 

“Yes!”

 

“And if Christine should come back?”

 

“I loved him long before his obsession with her and I’ll love him long after.”

 

Mme. Giry looked as if she wanted to argue more, but she saw the determined, steely look in her daughter’s eyes. She sighed in defeat, “Alright, I understand. I don’t approve, but I understand.”

 

Meg hugged her mother, who hugged her back just as fiercely, “Thank you, Maman!”

 

“I just don’t wish to see you get hurt, ma petite,” she whispered.

 

 

<><><><><><>

 

Unbeknownst to either Giry, Erik had followed along in the shadows hoping to clear up the misunderstanding, only to hear Meg scream her love for him to the rafters. He’d never admit that hearing that she still cared for him made him blush like fool. But he would admit that hearing how little the elder Giry thought of him stung, though he did bring it on himself. He’d have to win her approval before he dared propose to Meg.

 

Erik stopped himself. _Is that what you want from Meg? Marriage?_ He knew that he cared deeply about her and wanted to protect her. He thought about her declaration. Could he do the same with the same conviction? What if Mme. Giry was right and he really was just using her as a replacement? Erik decided then and there that until he figured out what he wanted he was going to distance himself from her. There was no use in getting her hopes up only to dash them...

 

...Again.


	7. Meg Has Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik is distant! Meg is sad! Meg has great friends! Felix is a goofball but he can be serious when he needs to be! 
> 
> Erik is jealous?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *** Chapters 6 & 7 were added on the same day! ***

Rehearsals were well underway for the Opera Populaire’s grand debut of _Carmille_ , a tragic ballet in two acts, with Marguerite Giry making her debut as Prime Ballerina!

 

However the Prima Ballerina in question was too disheartened to feel any of the excitement that seemed to permeate the air around the theater. It’d been weeks since the incident in Erik’s office and he’d taken to avoiding her when he could. Whenever the situation demanded he converse with her, he was professional bordering on cold. The sudden shift in his demeanor threw Meg for a loop.

 

At first, she had just thought it was the stress of preparing for the Opera Populaire’s grand reopening that was making him a tad snippy. But that was soon disproved when he was cordial to everyone else besides her. Then she thought it was her mother’s interruption of their almost kiss that had upset him. But he treated Mme. Giry as he always had. After she’d exhausted all _possible_ reasons for his behavior, she was forced to conclude that he was merely upset with her.

 

Of course Meg tried to speak to him to apologize for whatever she’d done, but Erik had a knack for disappearing. It was nearly impossible for her to corner him as he made a concerted effort to never be alone with her. She should remember he was the Phantom of Opera more often. Maybe her mother was right and she really was just convenient for him. Maybe he didn’t care for her at all. Meg let out a heavy sigh.

 

“Whoa, _loleuse_ , you’ll lose your whole soul that way!”

 

“Bonjour, Felix.”

 

“What’s got you so down? I should think it wasn’t _my_ singing that’s brought this on, now, _Renée_ on the other hand...” Felix trailed off with a sly glance to where the soprano stood glaring playfully at him.

 

“Renée sang wonderfully today,” Meg replied with a smile glad to be distracted, “you’re the one who needs more practice!”

 

Felix grabbed at his heart as if Meg’s words were daggers, “You wound me, _loleuse_!” he proclaimed while dramatically staggering about the stage.

 

“You should stick to dancing, _gavroche_ ,” Meg teased. “Who else is going to be my noble prince? Genevieve is too beautiful to pass as a man no matter what she wears. She’d outshine me even in trousers!”

 

Felix grabbed Meg’s hands and danced her around haphazardly, “If ever there was a man who would refuse your love, he is nothing but a pig-headed fool, _ma calinette_! You deserve to have portraits painted of your astounding beauty, ballets written to showcase your immeasurable talent, and a man who will be completely devoted to you alone!”Meg’s smile turned sad at his words.

 

“Thank you, _gavroche_ ,” Meg replied quietly as she tried to brush the worry that was beginning to appear on his face.

 

“Meg,” Felix lightly held her shoulders, “What’s really wrong? You’re not usually like this, _loleuse_.”

 

“I loved and lost once, _gavroche_ , and now I feel like I’m about to lose my love again,” she whispered.

 

“You’ve never told me that! Now I’m curious. Tell me of these two great, foolish loves.”

 

“You remember that I was a ballerina at this theater before it burnt down?” Meg waited for Felix to nod, “Well, he was something of a fixture here. He would compose and give suggestions to the manager every now and then. He was brilliant. I met him when I was only thirteen. He was my only true friend. As we grew up, he started to fall for my sister, who did not return his affections. He only had eyes for her for years. He didn’t give up his pursuit until she married another and then he disappeared.”

 

“What an idiot! You’re better off forgetting him! And what of the second?” Meg hesitated for a moment.

 

“They’re one and same,” Meg took in Felix’s look of confusion and disbelief. “No, don’t look at me like that! I know I’m a fool for loving him even after he hurt me. But now he’s back and there’s no sister to tempt him and he’s different,” Felix raised an eyebrow, “and no, no, he is. If you’d met him before you’d understand just how much.”

 

Felix narrowed his eyes at her, “You’re implying I know him now,” Meg looked away guiltily, “I do know him now! Who is it? The only person who was here before all of us was—,”

 

“If the two of you are rehearsing, you’d do well to wait until the orchestra returns from their lunch,” Erik cut in.

 

Meg didn’t dare look at him and merely held Felix’s stare, willing him to understand. She could see the moment her friend pieced it all together. He sucked in a silent gasp and she could barely hear his “no” as he exhaled. She nodded ever so slightly. Felix’s face melted into pity as Meg pulled away gently, her own face pinched with sadness and withheld tears. She could feel the coldness in Erik’s stare as she turned to face him. He looked as if he were the bishop and she’d just blasphemed in church. It irritated her.

 

“Have no fear, _Monsieur Destler_ ,” Meg took a small kind of satisfaction at seeing Erik taken aback, “We weren’t rehearsing and I was just leaving.”

 

She studiously ignored his look of confused hurt as she sauntered off the stage toward her dressing room. Meg fumed the whole way. How dare he judge her! He didn’t get to treat her like air one minute and then be hurt when she took comfort in another! If that’s how it was going to be...

 

_**Fine** _

 

Two could play at this game and Meg always played to win.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loleuse = a nickname for a cheerful friend  
> Gavroche = a nickname for a troublemaker friend  
> Ma calinette = a term of endearment used to show affection but has no real translation
> 
> NEXT CHAPTER:  
> Meg gets petty P.E.T.T.Y. Yeah she’s petty, what, what!  
> Erik is jealous!  
> It’s the night of the premiere!


End file.
